


a man and his man-shaped shadow

by ditty (Triple_A)



Category: Daniel Isn't Real (2019), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anger Management, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Daniel Isn't Real (2019) AU, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Good Friend Tina Chen, Imaginary Friends, Manipulative Upgraded Connor | RK900, Ni is Gavin's imaginary friend, Ni isn't Real, OR IS HE, Psychological Horror, RK900 is called Ni, Tulpas, i like how that's a tag, i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triple_A/pseuds/ditty
Summary: Homicide detective Gavin Reed is 36 years old and suffering from a tragic past trauma and temperament issues. In an effort to cope, he resurrects his childhood imaginary friend 'Niles', or Ni, a charismatic and energetic being who seeks to help the detective achieve his goals and improve his performance.But twenty-seven years is a long time for any friend to get pushed away. Even imaginary ones.How long is it until Ni begins to want more?How long is it until Gavin begins to pay for it?: :Daniel isn't Real AU. (Ni isn't real?)
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed, Tina Chen & Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed
Comments: 21
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> no i have not watched daniel isn't real. i only saw the trailers
> 
> title may change? i'm not sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He wants to get out of here. It was a mistake to come here in the first place, despite all of Tina’s nags and insistence. He either feels like a specimen to be dissected or a child to be talked down to and pitied. Neither are great to feel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i shoulda considered how these chapters were gonna pace out before i attempted stitching them together

The therapist’s room smells of mothballs and lemon cleaner, and evokes memories of grandparents’ houses and dusty old libraries in Gavin’s mind.

“Mr. Reed? Are you listening?”

Gavin nods, forcing himself to look up and make eye contact with the therapist. Dr. Mulligan. He wears horn-rimmed glasses and twirls a pen in one hand as his foot jiggles a slow, inaudible beat, crossed on his knee. It’s been doing that for the whole appointment time so far. It’s annoying.

“What did I just say?”

“Some shit about my trauma making me stupid.” Gavin says bluntly, and Mulligan sighs and makes a little condescending note in his notepad before the pen goes right back to pivoting on his knuckles. 

Gavin picks at his nails. He wants to get out of here. It was a mistake to come here in the first place, despite all of Tina’s nags and insistence. He either feels like a specimen to be dissected or a child to be talked down to and pitied. Neither are great to feel.

“Your trauma suppression is hindering your ability to think creatively and rationally in stressful situations.” Mulligan sets down the pen on the clipboard on his lap, and crosses his fingers. “Your previous psych report labelled it as anger management issues. I feel that the source may be your current method for dealing with your emotional trauma, and repression thereof.”

A shocking diagnosis. Really worth the 120-dollar-per-appointment rate. Gavin clenches his right fist, feeling the nails set into familiar grooves and dig inwards, stinging. “And what do you recommend? Xanax? Adderall?”

“Aren’t you a police officer?”

“Aren’t _you_ a doctor?”

“One that wants you to keep your job.” Mulligan sniffs, and Gavin tries to keep his face from curling into a sneer. “I’m not prescribing you any new medications. But I am going to suggest a new recovery plan, one that you must implement yourself.”

“Do tell.”

“Did you have an imaginary friend when you were younger, Mr. Reed?”

It takes him a moment to fully decipher what Mulligan is saying. “I—When I was a kid, sure.”

“Around what age?”

“I dunno. Eight? Nine?”

“Did this friend manifest around the same time as the death of your mother?”

His stomach turns unpleasantly. He hadn’t thought about Ni for years. “A little before that, actually. I stopped thinking about hi-the friend around the time my mom died.”

“So, this friend manifested around the time of your mother’s second divorce?”

Jesus Christ. “Fine. Sure. Yes.”

The fine hairs on the back of his neck raise when Mulligan leans forward, fingers steepled in interest. “Now, Mr. Reed. Why do we think that is?”

“What kind of quack question is this?” He sputters. “I was a _kid_. Ni—he was just imaginary. He didn’t mean anything.”

“Consciously, you think that. But unconsciously? Subconsciously? Why did you forget him? Or better yet, what event triggered his appearance?”

“I don’t know! Maybe because I was a stupid little kid! Who knows what I was thinking?”

“I think you are avoiding the question, Mr. Reed.”

He clenches his fist tighter and takes a deep breath. He wasn’t going to get anywhere punching a doctor. It’d be better for his disciplinary record if he didn’t. “Okay. Okay, uh. I probably...made him up when my dad—my real dad—um. Died.”

“Go on.” The pen is no longer spinning aimlessly, instead scratching out Gavin’s words on the yellow paper.

“And—I didn’t talk to a lot of people as a kid. I didn’t have a lot of friends. Ni was—you know, he was a friend. I told you that I was always alone as a kid.”

“Yes, but you also said you were never lonely. And it was because of Ni?”

“Probably.” He says through clenched teeth.

“Let’s skip ahead, then. Why did ‘Ni’ leave your life? Was it spontaneous?”

“What? No, I don’t know. I didn’t stop thinking about him after he disappeared. I forgot about him by the time I hit middle school, though.”

“You did not answer my first question.” Mulligan stares at him through those stupid glasses. “Why did Ni leave your life as a sentient being? Or, why did you stop letting him _exist_?"

“Because-” He clenches his eyes shut. He feels like he’s nine again, when his aunt insisted he go to a therapist. Scared and clumsy and acutely aware of how every word he said would be pitied and noted, but not heard. “Because I blamed my mom dying on him.”

The words leave his mouth in a rushed mumble. It’s stupid. It’s even more stupid, because nearly thirty years later he still believes those words wholeheartedly, and saying it out loud does nothing to mitigate that. Mulligan is silent, but Gavin is sure he must be laughing quietly, internally, and Gavin wants to scream.

“Hm.” Is all the bastard says. Gavin looks up-the pen is twirling again, and sunlight glints off of Mulligan’s glasses. “I would like to suggest something to you, Mr. Reed.”

“Oh, do tell. Please give me this miracle plan that will cure me of all issues forever.”

“I would like you,” Mulligan continues, entirely ignoring Gavin’s sarcasm. “To try and _reconnect_ with your imaginary friend. Based on what you have told me, many of your current methods for trauma and emotion seem to stem from early events in your childhood. I believe your imaginary friend - _Ni_ \- was your childhood method for coping with that tumultuous time, and you abandoned that concept when it failed you.”

 _Your childhood was fucked so you tried to deal with it with a made-up friend and now you should reconnect with said-friend to try and repair your current fucked up emotions_ , is what Gavin hears. He snorts.

“It must sound ridiculous, I know. And yes, this method is rather experimental, given the malleable nature of childhood imaginary friends, but I believe it may genuinely help you.” He smiles, and it’s more discomfiting than comforting. “Rest assured, Mr. Reed. No one will have to acknowledge Ni asides from yourself, or know of his existence. It may take time, but it may be worth it.”

“So even you don’t know if this will work?”

“In all fairness, Mr. Reed, very few people are privy to the mechanisms of the human brain, and I won't pretend to be one of them. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

_Won’t hurt to try, huh?_

“Well.” Mulligan snaps his notebook closed, and Gavin jumps. “That concludes our session. I will have my assistant forward you the bill.”

_Bullshit._

* * *

He gets home and has no sooner flopped on the bed, when his phone buzzes from his pocket.

He wants to ignore it. He’s not interested in work or bills or any other nonsense that he’ll have to deal with later. He’s exhausted-he’s never talked so much about himself in his life, even with the most crucial details being carefully filtered out. He could sleep for years.

His phone buzzes again, more insistently. He curses.

**Teeny-Time**

**3.14**

**hey :0**

**heyyyyyyyyyy**

**how’d therapy go loser**

**> 4:13pm**

_Shit._

_ >4:14pm _

**aw boo :(**

**what’s the damage?**

**> 4:15**

_are you sure mulligan is legit?_

_deadass half the stuff he said just felt like bs_

_also the whole therapist office smelled like retiring homes_

_ >4:15 _

**i mean he worked for chris**

**so liek**

**mb u just gotta put urself into it more**

**> 4:16**

_ugh_

_ >4:16 _

**don’t u ugh me mister >:(**

**> 4:17**

_UGH._

_ >4:17 _

**bitchass.**

**ur time is limited and your reckoning is at my hans**

***hands**

**> 4:17**

_nice_

_ >4:20 _

**nice**

**(but srsly though do u wanna talk abt it?)**

**> 4:20**

**...gav?**

**> 4:25**

He stares at the little letters on the screen. On one hand, he’s not really interested in venting everything and then some, again, to Tina. On the other hand, he knows he’s gonna feel guilty about not doing so, because it was going to piss her off. And not in the fun shits-and-giggles way.

_you are legally not allowed to comment whatsoever_

_ >4:32 _

**my lips r zipped nd my ears r opened**

**like corn**

**I am a child of the corn nd u are the farmer who found me**

**teach me, father**

**> 4:33**

_God u are SO weird_

_ >4:34 _

**u love me ;)**

**> 4:34**

_no comment_

_but anyways_

_ >4:34 _

_so mulligan suggested i do some weird new age shit_

_nd recall my imaginary friend? Like my imaginary_

_friend from when i was eight, or smth. bc he popped_

_into my life when shit started goin south nd mullig_

_thinks that hes a coping mechanism that i need to_

_get in touch with again, for whatever rsn. and that_

_didchin him in the first place is y im so fucked up_

_ >4:40 _

_tina if ur laughin rn istg_

_ >4:43 _

_im gonna kidnap ur parrot and teach it to swear_ _  
_ _ >4:45 _

**im not laughing!**

**and good luck. Macaron already knows fuck AND shit**

**> 4:45**

**i had an imaginary frien called doomby**

**> 4:46**

_tf kinda name is doomby_

_ >4:46 _

**tf kinda name is**

**> 4:46**

**nvm u never told me ur imag friend’s name**

**what’s ur imagin frien’s name?**

**> 4:47**

_joe_

_ >4:47 _

**ur not funny** **  
** **> 4:48**

**but yea, doomby was a dragon with butterfly wings**

**nd a lso a unicorn horn**

**cept insted of a horn swas**

**a lightsaber**

**> 4:49**

_holy shit_

_ >4:50 _

**asdfkj shut UP**

**i was fournd i liked star wars**

**blame my nerdass parents**

**> 4:50**

_Aww...babe that’s so cute :)_

_ >4:51 _

**thank u i was always v cute uwu**

**but back to u**

**> 4:51**

_can we pls keep talkin about doomby?_

_ >4:52 _

**if u tell me ur imaginary friend’s**

**name?**

**> 4:52**

_o look at the time im gonna go consume_

_dinner now. bye tina!_

_ >4:53 _ ****

**u asshole??**

**get back here**

**at least tell me if hes weirder than doomby**

**> 4:53**

**:( i bet doomby could beat ur friend in a fight**

**doomby's ripped. doomby could bench press u**

**> 4:55**

**see u at work tomorrow u owe me coffee**

**and also ur imaginary friend’s name**

**> 5:03**

**  
** **ilu <3**

**> 5:10**

**Teeny-Time**

**3.15**

_ily too u loser_

_ >1:34_

* * *

An email appears in his inbox in the middle of a meeting the next day, and the subject states that it includes both the appointment bill and a set of instructions.

He glances around quickly to make sure that everyone else is occupied, going over whatever boring ass government policy protocol that Fowler was reviewing. Something-something androids. Probably just another reiteration of “don’t be a dick to androids because that’s illegal now”, which Gavin wasn’t particularly interested in hearing for another time.

He glances back down to his tablet. The little notification blinks in the corner. D, MULLIGAN reads the sender.

. . .

_ From: D.Mulligan@psychten.org _

_ To: greed11@dpd.org _

_ Subject: Re: Appointment _

_ To Mr. Gavin Reed: _

_ This is a reminder to pay your bill for the last appointment, but also a follow-up. _

_ I hope you are still considering the offered advice. Many people are doubtful at first, but it does prove to be helpful to those who try. I’ve included a list of instructions, compiled by patients and doctors who have utilized this method before. _

_ I would also suggest a follow-up appointment in about two weeks, should you decide to try this method. Feel free to email or call if you have questions or to schedule. _

_ Best wishes, _

_ -Dr. Daniel Mulligan _

_. . . _

Great.

Gavin flicks open one of the attached pdf files, ignoring the $120 stamp for favor of scanning through the paragraphs of patient summaries and instructions, only half-interested. It's a lot of stuff about people swearing up and down that they were better, less self-destructive, more liked after reconnecting with their childhood daydreams.  _ Tulpas _ , they were called. That was the official label for the sentient, incorporeal mental fabrication of a being that were devised by imaginative kids and the insane and occasionally, in Gavin’s case, the emotionally stunted.

The general consensus on the best method for reviving a tulpa seemed to be retracing steps. To reconnect—’meet again’, as some of patients put it—the best way was to find how and where the tulpa had been abandoned and mimic ‘recalling’ them. And greeting them as old familiar faces.

Technology had come a hell of a long way, but it was still impossible to transfer odors over the internet. So Gavin thought it was very impressive that the whole report smelled strongly of bullshit.

“Reed!”

He jumps. Fowler and the rest of the room are looking at him. “...Yeah?”

“Care to explain to the group what is so interesting about what’s on your tablet right now?” A muscle is jumping in Fowler’s cheek. “And  _ why  _ you’ve decided that it’s more important than this meeting?”

“...Doctor’s email.” It’s technically the truth. And while he hated the idea of expressing medical problems as an excuse, it was still savagely satisfying to see Fowler’s anger drop into confusion, then uncertain sheepishness, and then annoyance.

“What, did you finally get surgery to get rid of the stick in your ass?” Hank says before Fowler can open his mouth, from down the table.

“Hey fuck you, Anderson,” He snaps back immediately. “I’m sorry no one can surgically cure your limp-dicked bastard syndrome.”

“All due respect, Detective,” Connor butts in, with the tone of being very politely disrespectful. “The only way you’d know that is if you were the lab rat.”

“Alright, alright, enough!” Fowler shouts over the collective clamor of surprise, and the sound of Hank high-fiving Connor. Gavin was standing with fists clenched and red in his vision. “Hank, are you fifty or five? And Reed, don’t make me put another disciplinary in that textbook of a goddamn folder. Sit the hell down and listen!”

He sinks into his seat with a final glare at Anderson, who leisurely flips him off. Stupid old bastard. Stupid old bastard and his stupid plastic guard dog. If this shit kept up, he was going to lose it, and-

A sharp pain shoots through his hand. He’s white-knuckled, digging nails into his palm, and he forces himself to take a breath. There are eyes on him, he can feel them, but he forces himself to look ahead at Fowler and whatever meaningless graphic he has pulled up.

A few years ago, he might’ve been mortified at the thought of making an outburst. Now, he could hardly give a shit about the other people who were staring, whispering among themselves. Another one of the books, surely. 

Across the table, he catches Tina’s eye, and she pulls her lips into a grimace.  _ You good?  _ She mouths.

He relaxes, feeling his fingers unstiffen. He offers her a thumbs-up.

The email is still on his screen, mocking him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gavin is a loser jock and tina is a cool nerd. they're both gen z
> 
> i said i was gonna post this the day after april 1 and then i didn't and that's on me, being a fool for fool reasons, whoops here you go


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“...Ni?” He coughs out, eyes watering, and all six-foot-two-inches of Niles, dark-haired and pale, grins back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update bc i feel bad whoops

The toy chest hasn’t been opened in years.

It’s covered in spiderwebs, and the latch is rusted. The masking tape that a younger Gavin had used to seal the crack of the lid is discolored, and covered by a film of dust. Gavin isn’t sure he would even be able to open it without the use of a crowbar, as he drags it out of the pile of stacked rubbish it was hiding in into a patch of sunlight, streaming through the attic window. He stifles the urge to sneeze.

He stares at the inconspicuous box and it’s splintering wood, and the bleached-out plastic stickers stuck all over its surface, and his fingers hesitate as they feel out the familiar shape of the fastener. He’s-

He’s-

He’s not  _ afraid _ . There’s nothing to be afraid of. And yet, he can’t help but to feel like he’s going to find a body when he lifts the lid.

The latch must not have been as rusted as he thought, because it slides open with barely a squeak, though the click as he slides it fully is loud and echoing in his ears. Then the tape, which comes off in a single, smooth strip and reveals clean paint beneath it. He takes the corners of the lid, and forces himself to take a deep breath. A mistake, because the dust makes him sneeze violently enough to feel his teeth click.

The lid opens smoothly, creaking slowly as he lifts it. A plume of dust follows it, and he jerks his head back to avoid gagging. He squints-he looks inside-

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

There’s nothing in the chest but a yoyo with a frayed string, a Hot Wheels car with cracked paint and a missing wheel, and a dead, shriveled-up rat. So dry it didn’t even have a smell anymore.

Gavin wasn’t sure what he was expecting, to be honest.

“...Ni? You there?” He says aloud, stupidly, and the attic swallows up the words and repeats them to no one. “Niles? It’s me, Gav.”

He waits for a reply, and feels some strange relief when there’s nothing but the scratch of rodents and his own breathing.

“Fucking knew Mulligan was bullshit.” He mutters, and nudges the chest with a shoe. It’s not the holder of a little kid’s daydream. It doesn’t contain the secret to his problems. 

It’s nothing but a rat’s coffin, and he’s standing alone in a dusty attic.

* * *

“So it didn’t work?” Tina asks him the next day, a pastry raised halfway to her mouth.

“Why do you sound so surprised? Of course it didn’t.” Gavin snorts into his coffee. “I told you, Mulligan’s full of shit.”

“Huh.” She chews thoughtfully. “You disappointed about it?”

“Hell no. Why would I be?”

“I dunno, man. It’s  _ your _ imaginary friend.”

“And? It’s not like I miss him.” That’s the truth. He didn’t miss Ni, he was glad to find the box empty. Because honestly, what would he have done if he had found little Ni at the bottom, still waiting for Gavin to let him out and play?

He isn’t disappointed, he assures himself. The loss of sleep is entirely unrelated to the lonely attic room.

“Hm.” They’re quiet for a moment, watching the bullpen through the break room entrance. Hank has arrived, nine am on the dot, with Connor dogging in his heels. A rare sight made common since the arrival of the android. “I miss Doomby sometimes. Is that weird? I haven’t thought about that thing for decades and suddenly I’m missing him.”

“I’m glad I could remind you with my trauma.”

“Oh, shut up.” She grumbles. Her elbow finds its target against his arm, and he chuckles tiredly.

“I’m gonna get to work. Fowler’s been looking for an excuse to get on my back and I still need him to recommend me for the sergeants exam.”

“Nerd. Are you gonna join us next week for drinks?”

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “Next Tuesday. A bunch of the officers have been talking about it in the group chat for weeks. We’re going out to that new bar that’s opening downtown.”

“Uh...maybe.” Depends on if the amazing human-android duo was going to be there or not. Frankly, he sees enough of them at work to see them any more.

“It could do you some good. You’ve been pent up for a while.” She’s right. The past few days have been filled with nothing but barely restrained fury and strings pulled taut. “Let loose a bit. Get friendly. Get frisky. Get f-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” 

She snorts.

“I’ll send you the time and address if you feel like it, but don’t worry about it. Take it easy, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He pointedly ignores Hank and Connor, who are already caught in the pleasant back-and-forth of conversation, and settles heavily at his desk with a sigh. Fucking reports. Even with the limited existence of physical, traditional paper, Gavin  _ despised  _ paperwork. Long paragraphs on bright screens that he could hardly read through completely, feeling himself lose brain cells every time he finished one sentence and realized he had absorbed nothing.

It was the only thing to make him even slightly consider getting a partner. At the very least, the burden would be spread, though he doubted he or they could tolerate being in each other’s presence for long. The only people he’d consider were Tina, who had yet to take the detective exam and probably would end up paired with Ben, anyways, because Ben was older and more experienced and not ‘fucking feral’, unlike Gavin. Or maybe Chris, but Chris was perfectly happy where he was as a beat cop, and he had a kid. And Gavin was sure if they became partners he’d start getting invited over to meet the infamously adorable Damian Miller, and Gavin was almost as bad with kids as he was with paperwork.

He sighs, looking over the veritable stack of files in his inbox, taking a sip of his coffee. Preparing himself.

“Need some help?”

His head jerks up, a retort already on his tongue because  _ fuck off, you plastic prick, I don’t need your fucking help-- _ before it dies just as swiftly, choked off by the gasp he takes on a mouthful of coffee. 

Connor isn’t standing anywhere near him, still engaged in whatever bullshit convo with Anderson. But that can’t be right, surely, because Connor was also standing right in front of him, leaning against that unoccupied desk and dressed in crisp white, and-

And…

“...Ni?” He coughs out, eyes watering, and all six-foot-two-inches of Niles, dark-haired and pale, grins back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gavin doesn't hate hank and connor he just doesn't like them


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ni looked like Connor, and Gavin had_ no fucking idea _what that could possibly _mean_. He could only stare, and Ni only smirked._

Ni looked like Connor, and Gavin had _no fucking idea_ what that could possibly _mean_. He could only stare, and Ni only smirked.

It was scary. It was like the same facial model for Connor was superimposed on a slightly taller, slightly sharper body. From toe to tip, albeit for some small details; there was the same face structure, the same freckle-dotted skin. The same stupid curl that hangs down his forehead.

“Well don’t look so sad to see me, Gav.” He chuckles. “After all, you called out to me, didn’t you?”

Gavin looks around. Neither Connor or Hank seemed to notice the sudden stranger. Nor did anyone else in the bullpen. “You’re…”

“I’m.” Ni confirms, and he strides a few steps closer. “How’ve you been, Gav? It’s been a while.”

“...Why do you look like that?” Is all Gavin could think to sputter. Childhood Ni wore black schoolboy’s shorts and ironed white button-downs. Current Ni wore a black turtleneck and slacks, with a white jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulders.

“Looks cool, right? What, did you expect me to still look nine years old? We’ve both grown, Gav.” Ni laughs. “You’re what, thirty?”

“Thirty-six.”

“I figured I’d show up in something that suits your style more, y’know?” He continues, entirely ignoring Gavin. “Do you like it?”

“...My style?”

“Your only style is asshole, Reed.” Hank butts in, and Gavin jumps. “Who the hell are you talking to?”

“You’re hearing shit, old man. Go join the geriatrics and get a complimentary hearing aid.”

“Deny it all you want, you definitely said something. Right Connor?”

Fucking Connor. Gavin glares daggers at the android, who shrugs leisurely.

“Nothing interesting, Hank. I think Gavin is the one who needs to join the geriatrics.”

“Shut the hell up, Connor, you’re not clever.”

“I’m programmed to be clever, Detective. You’ve grown to become someone who talks to himself.”

Gavin can’t really find the attention to spare into putting together a better retort than a classic middle finger. Hank snorts, Connor smirks, and Gavin finds he’s a lot less angrier about it than he’d usually be. 

As he turns back, he realizes that Ni is gone, no longer leaning against the desk. Had he hallucinated it? Was he really losing it? 

“Behind you, dummy.”

A pair of pale hands are suddenly grabbing the armrests of his chair and caging him there, and he jerks so badly his knees meets the underside of the table, shaking his coffee. Ni’s face looms over him, grinning cheekily.

 _His eyes are blue,_ Gavin notices distantly, over the sudden spike of his heart. Had they always been that bright?

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, and Gavin shrinks a little lower in his seat, bringing his face farther from Ni’s. Had Ni always seemed this real? He couldn’t quite remember. Surely, because Gavin remembered believing Ni to be real enough to be physical. And although Ni appeared to be leaning on the back of his chair, there was no additional pressure or leverage being put on it. The lights above are blotted out by Ni’s head.

He wasn’t about to start talking to Ni now, though. Not out loud, not here, while Connor with his super-ears (and half the precinct, really, being androids as well) could witness Gavin’s sudden insanity. He gets up, forcefully shoving the chair backwards and stumbling when it meets no resistance, and ignoring the stares that follow him as he makes his way to the evidence room. He hears no footsteps to indicate that Ni is following him.

He hasn’t really been in the evidence room since getting decked there by Connor a few months ago, but it’s one of the few rooms he knows he won’t be bothered in. Most of the time, people acknowledge the little ‘In Use’ light that shone when someone was using it. He pulls up the evidence for the current case, without really intending to look at it, and waits for the hum of machinery to shuffle that shelf to the front.

“Fancy,” Ni comments from somewhere in front of him, and though he’s prepared for it this time, he tenses. “Are these androids?”

Ni stands before the shelf of evidence, staring with interest at the holographic display of a white carapace and blue lines. If he was supposed to only be a trick of the mind, how did he look so _real?_ Even the white lights of the evidence room were kind to him, throwing shadows over his face when he turns, accentuating the line of his neck.

“...Is it really you?” Gavin asks hoarsely. Similarities to Connor aside, it’s undeniable that it’s Ni, the friend--companion--thing that had haunted him in childhood. The lock of the hair is the same. And so are some of the freckles that Gavin can make out, dotting Ni’s cheek and jaw.

“Of course it’s me. Who else would I be?” Ni smiles like it’s all a joke to him. “It’s nice to see you again, Gav. You look well.”

That must be a joke. Compared to Ni, Gavin knows he looks like shit, between the dark circles beneath his eyes and the wrinkled clothes he had practically slept in. “How are you here?”

“How else? You called for me, didn’t you?” Ni takes a step closer to the center console, where Gavin stands. The light silhouettes him. He seems even taller like this, and Gavin thinks that it’s a crueler joke that he must be dwarfed by someone who doesn’t exist.

“You weren’t in the b--you weren’t in the attic when I looked for you.” He corrects himself quickly. Ni’s smile drops slightly. It no longer meets his eyes.

“Well, of course I wasn’t in the box. Did you expect me to stay there for _twenty-seven_ years?” He’s not mirthful anymore, there’s something bitter in his voice. Another step, and this time Gavin takes a step back. “It got lonely in there, you know. Not even the rats were good company.”

Another step. Ni isn’t smiling now, there’s nothing on his face but sadness. Betrayal. “Why did you lock me away, Gavin? I thought we were friends.”

The apology is about to leave Gavin’s mouth before he remembers why he shoved Ni into that box in the first place, and anger replaces the previous fear. His fingers itch with the familiar urge to hit something. “You killed my _mom_ , Ni!” He snarls. “She’s dead because of you!”

Saying it out loud this time around doesn’t feel any less ridiculous than it did that day at the therapist’s office. He still feels like a child throwing around the blame to avoid facing the bigger perpetrator in the mirror, and some part of him knows, deep down-

-that it was his own fault, too.

Ni doesn’t flinch at the accusation. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Did I? Gavin, you were eight. _We_ were eight. What did we know?” Ni sounds heartbroken, like it’s _his_ mother that died. “I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know that would happen any more than you did.”

“It was your idea-”

“And you were the one who carried it out. I’m not the one who can touch things, Gavin.” And as if proving his point, Ni keeps on walking, and Gavin watches in shock as he phases through the console, without even a flicker. 

His fury flares-and goes nowhere. He’s unsure what to do, what the fuck is he supposed to do? Fight an incorporeal thing from his head? Argue with someone who knows him inside out? “You…”

“I only knew what you knew. I promise you, if I could change that moment, I would.” Ni’s voice breaks. Gavin can’t quite tell, but he thinks there might be tears in his eyes. “Gavin, I am so, so, sorry.”

There’s no sound but the hum of the fluorescent lights, the rasp of Gavin’s breathing, and a soft drip, drip, drip. Gavin belatedly realizes that he’s bleeding, his nails are dug so deep into his palm that blood runs warm and thin down his knuckles to the cement floor. He tries to unclench, but all his fist does is shake.

Would it even make contact with Ni if he tried to punch him? Or would it pass through like a ghost?

“It’s okay, Gavin. I promise, it wasn’t your fault.” Ni whispers. Pale hands reach up to cup his face, hovering so close that were Ni human, Gavin would feel the touch electric against the fine hairs on his cheek. “It’s okay.”

Gavin hasn’t cried since he was eight.

The evidence room is quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights, the stutter of Gavin’s quiet sobs, and the soft drip of tears on cement.

* * *

As it turns out, the evidence room was a bad place to have a mental breakdown. His knees _hurt_ from kneeling on the cold cement floor for the better part of nearly a half-hour, when he pulled himself together enough at Ni’s soft urgings to get up and find a bathroom to clean up in.

He looks as bad as he feels. Staring at his dripping face in the mirror show his eyes to still be slightly swollen, his cheeks still flushed from crying. But he can play it off as a cold or, better yet, leave. He’s in no mood to stay at work for the rest of his ten-hour shift, especially if the only things that are waiting for him are just reports.

“I can help you with your work, you know.” Ni says quietly. Gavin glares at him in the mirror. “You can rest a little easier when it’s all done.”

“You’re from _my_ head,” Gavin sniffs. “What can you know better than me?”

“I’m good at reading. I can read the summaries of the cases out loud to you.” Ni offers. That much was true, Gavin begrudgingly admitted to himself. Many childhood bedtimes went by with Ni reading some storybook out loud to him, by flashlight, while mom was fast asleep in the other room.

“Fine.”

He stalks from the bathroom with the uncomfortable feeling of being followed, though he can’t hear the footsteps. Ni’s more like a strange, benevolent ghost than anything, following invisible, a step behind.

Hank and Connor are gone by now. They must be out on a case. And so’s Tina, who has patrols. The bullpen is quiet by the time Gavin takes his seat and draws up the necessary files, with Ni sitting primly on the surface of his desk, and responds to Gavin questioning look with a smirk.

“I’m not moving anything around. And if you really need something, you can reach through me,” He shrugs. “Though I’d suggest you take me out first.”

“Oh, shut up.” Gavin mutters. Across the precinct, Ben Collins looks up and stares at him quizzically, and Gavin turns away quickly.

To his surprise-it is easier, with Ni. Probably nowhere as efficient as Connor, but it is much easier to write everything out with Ni leaning over his shoulder, reading out the summaries and pointing out his spelling errors.

“You’re like Clippy, huh?” He chuckles.

“Beg pardon?”

“Clippy’s this paper clip that used to hang out on your documents and criticize what you’d write,” Gavin has only ironically fond memories of the little digital clip. “God he was annoying.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, if I’m going to be perfectly honest with you.”

“You’re a...a better Clippy. A Clippy who doesn’t annoy people to the brink of insanity with email details, or whatever.”

“Thanks for that.”

They finish two of the reports within the next two hours, which is faster than if Gavin had simply done it on his own. He thinks if he wasn’t still functioning in a state of shock, he’d be giddy at the accomplishment. As it is, he’s a lot happier as he takes his lunch break, opting to sit outside for once to make use of the rare sun. Granted, ‘outside’ is the stairs that lead into the alleyway, but there’s no one to bother him and he can talk to Ni without feeling like he’s about to get thrown into an institution.

He suspects Ni is smug about it as well, though he doesn’t say anything. He can just feel it, like the electricity in the air that lasts long after the gunfight and the titanium in his leg on rainy days.

“I feel like we should catch up,” Ni says, after some quiet. “It’s been nearly three decades, after all.”

“Don’ you alrea’y kno?” Gavin says around a mouthful of bread. Ni wrinkles his nose at him. “And anyways, there’s not much that’s worth sharing. I’m not an interesting talker.” Only a few days ago, he’d exhumed more about his life to Mulligan than he had to anyone in years. He’s not looking forward to doing it again.

“It’s nicer to hear it come from you. Feels more real that way.”

“It’ll be a whole lot of me just talking.”

“Oh, I don’t mind listening. Not if it’s you.” Fuck, that’s disconcerting. Gavin shifts under Ni’s earnest stare, suddenly more aware of how uncomfortable the stairs are under him. “Or here, since I suppose it’s my fault for dampening your mood: let’s play Twenty Questions.”

“That kid’s game?”

“Why not? I’m sure you want to know more about me. And I want to know more about you.” Ni’s right, of course. “Mutually beneficial. And it’s fun.”

“That’s subjective.”

“Hush. You go first.”

Gavin thinks it over. He really has no idea, because up until this morning he hadn’t even been entertaining the idea of what to do if Ni existed. He hadn’t exactly delved into the instructions Mulligan had left him.

“...Why the fuck do you look like Connor?” He blurts. It’s been bothering him since they met-or at least, got reacquainted.

Ni tilts his head curiously. “Who?”

“Connor. He’s this android-he’s my coworker. Didn’t you see him earlier?”

“In all honesty, I wasn’t really paying attention. I was more preoccupied with you.”

“Don’t be weird about it.” It’s weird enough having a Connor-lookalike stare at him with such eagerness.

“I don’t know the android, so I suppose it’s a pleasant surprise we share a likeness,” He taps a finger to his chin, in thought. “My appearance is, in part, driven by your own ideals and subconscious thoughts, so...what are your feelings towards this ‘Connor’?”

Despite the cool air, Gavin feels heat flush into his face. “H-What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Nothing at all. It’s what meaning _you_ extrapolate from it.” Ni looks smug. Like the cat that got the cream, and Gavin looks away to avoid looking at him. “And no more questions. It’s my turn.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Gavin turns his attention to the pigeons that squabble for loose crumbs. Gavin throws them a bit of crust and grins as they fall over each other for it, filling the alley with noise.

“Don’t feed them,” Ni snaps. “They’re pests and bread is bad for them anyways.”

“Fucking stop me,” Gavin grumbles, but he shoves the rest of the sandwich into his mouth anyways. “Do you have anything yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Shoot, then.”

“What happened after you pushed me away?” Ni says the words innocently enough, but it feels like a silent accusation.

Gavin winces at the question. The implications were clear. “Uh-where should I start-?”

“Start right after you put me in the box.” 

“O-oh,” Gavin swallows drily. “Um. I turned nine.” He says lamely. “My aunt-do you remember Aunt Rin? Rinny?-She came over to take care of me.”

“Yes, I remember. We visited her during that one holiday.” Ni lights up. Ni always did like Aunt Rinny, who was married to a hunter and knew how to gut a fish seven ways from Sunday. “What happened to her?”

It’s suddenly harder to swallow. His mouth tastes bitter. “She died a few years ago. Lung cancer.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.” A moment of quiet. “She smoked quite a bit, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. She was always trying to quit, though.”

“Hm. We used to try and steal the candies she’d used to try and quit.” Ni says, and Gavin smiles at the memory. The fake offense and wagging finger, and the yellow cellophane wrappers pushed into his hands with a conspiratorial wink. “We were never successful.”

“Ha, yeah. She used to say that she could tell if we were even thinking about doing something wrong. But she’d always give us some candy anyways.”

“She was a wonderful woman.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a moment, sitting on the stairs with cigarette butts stamped out in old puddles. Gavin’s suddenly more aware of the sharp shape of the lighter in his pocket, and the crushed carton that sits in his desk drawer.

“Hey, can I ask you a favor?” And Ni blinks.

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m gonna try to quit. I’ve been trying on and off for a few years now, but I’ve never gotten close.” He scratches the back of his neck, his other hand balling up the paper wrapper of his sandwich into a tight ball. “It...It might help with someone to keep me in check. And now that you’re here, um.”

Ni doesn’t reply. When Gavin turns, he realizes that the man (being? Ghost?) is gone. He’s not anywhere to be seen in the alley.

“...Ni?”

A car horn echoes off the walls and he jumps. A patrol car is parked at the mouth of the alley, sirens flashing. Tina’s leaning out the window.

“Hey, Gav! Come on, you got a case!” She calls with a grin. 

“Jesus, give me a heart attack, won’t you?” He grumbles, even as he’s clambering into the backseat. There went his plans for going home early. He hopes, at the very least, that it wouldn’t be too grisly. “You couldn’t have called me?” 

“Yeah, well. I was gonna text you, but I saw you sitting out there. Who were you talking to, by the way?” 

“No one.” He says quickly, and he sees her eyes narrow in the rearview mirror. 

“Like hell you weren’t,” she snorts, and he suspects that he’s going to be accosted later for answers. 

He turns to the window, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the reflection of Ni, sitting there besides him and waving. Another blink, and he was gone.

"Gav? You good?"

"Just drive."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ni seemed to be having the time of his goddamn life. Gavin has to bite his tongue from yelling at him to get away from the evidence markers. Ni crouches right over the corpse, examining the stab wounds with bright-eyed curiosity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy star wars day here's a thicc one

The carpet glitters with discarded shards of Red Ice, crunching quietly beneath Gavin’s shoes as he steps around the very dead, very putrid body lying in the middle of the room.

“James Walker, age 41,” Connor is saying out loud, and Gavin can hardly focus on the words as he tries to breathe shallowly through his mouth. He’s seen a lot of shit as a detective, but there was something to be said for the smell. “Former layman. Has a record for property damage, Red Ice possession, and assault. Affiliated with many major anti-android groups.”

“Wow. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Died a week ago on October nineteenth. The weather that night was heavy winds, Mercury was in retrograde, the star sign that night was Libra-”

“Don’t be an asshole, Connor.”

Great. The whole shitty shebang. Flies were buzzing around the various stab wounds on the guy’s back, the blood congealed black. The face is turned down into the filthy carpet, and Gavin feels very grateful that he had managed to avoid watching Connor do his freaky DNA analysis to get an identification on the vic. On one hand is the guy’s phone, and in the other is a box cutter, clutched in death-frozen fingers. Judging by the dark crust on the blade, Gavin could guess that that was the murder weapon. 

On the other hand, Ni seemed to be having the time of his goddamn life. Gavin has to bite his tongue from yelling at him to get away from the evidence markers. Ni crouches right over the corpse, examining the stab wounds with bright-eyed curiosity.

“You deal with this all the time?” He asks, and Gavin nods stiffly. He can’t talk to Ni out loud here, and he’d be caught dead before he was caught looking incompetent.

He turns away from the corpse to survey the rest of the little apartment. It’s a tenth-floor set-up of a rather shitty building, with a connected kitchen and living room. The kitchen counters were lined with bunsen burners and containers of thirium and little baggies of the red crystal. There’s a shitty, fraying couch in the living room, along with a coffee table with a few Ice pipes. The bedroom is sparse and occupied by filthy clothing, take-out boxes, a naked mattress, and body odor of the living variety.

It’s a general set up that everyone and their uncle has seen before. Nothing big enough to warrant being part of a larger drug ring, but clearly not shitty enough to indicate inexperience with Ice dealing. Everything screams “domestic Ice lab” up until Gavin reaches the bathroom.

He recoils from the sight even as Ni whistles quietly behind him.

The bathroom is a dark chamber that stinks of chemicals and mildew. There’s no light except for what comes through the door, but even in that dim illumination, there’s a haunting glow, reflected off the grimy mirror. And the stripped android carcasses that littered every nook and cranny.

Gavin had never been really nauseated by android violence before, but the sight was disturbing, in the uncanny manner that could only be achieved through android mutilations. Every empty space was filled by ghostly white carapaces, some still whole, many dismembered. Patches of pixelated skin are scattered around, on random limbs and torsos and faces. The spaces between the tiles are sticky with their spilled blood.

“So  _ this  _ is what makes them tick.” Ni stands in front of a body that is splayed in the corner, face level with the empty thirium regulator chamber. “Weird.”

“Get  _ away from there _ ,” Gavin hisses. The beat cop behind him jumps, and Ni pouts and rolls his eyes comically, but pulls away.

“S’not like they were alive to begin with, or anything.” He grumbles, and Gavin scowls. It’s probably his own head that Ni’s ideas were coming from, but that didn’t make it any more comforting to hear them coming from someone else’s mouth. He still hated Connor and all his perfect glory, though social pressures were trying to weed out the android aspect of his vendetta.

The smell comes back like a slap to the face when he returns to the living room, and he chokes on it like it’s something physical. In combination with the stress and exhaustion of events before, the odor is overwhelming, and Gavin’s hardly aware he’s swaying on his feet until a hand’s steadying his shoulder. Somewhere, someone asks if he’s alright.

He shakes his head. Ni is staring back at him worriedly, LED spinning yellow-no, that wasn’t Ni. That was Connor, just Connor, and the hand splayed against his back belongs to Anderson.

“Shit, kid, don’t die before me. I already have the lead,” the Lieutenant chuckles, and Gavin shrugs his weight off and flips him off, disgusted by his own wavering strength. “How’re you holding up, Reed?”

“Fucking peachy.” He swallows thickly and shakes his head. There had to be some sort of residue Ice fumes still lingering in the place, like a ghost. Because there was no other explanation for the way his head throbbed like an open wound right now. “Fucking... someone give me the rundown.”

“If you’d like, Detective, you can take a rest outside.” The bile in Gavin’s throat turns sour at Connor’s earnest concern. He clenches his fist and fights for a manageable breath in the sickly air. “I believe I’ve already reached a conclusion, and-”

“Of course you fucking did,” Gavin snaps. “But I asked for the  _ rundown _ , so shut your trap unless you’re going to tell me about the evidence set-up.” Behind him, Anderson huffs, and the hand at his back shoves him slightly. Fine. He was already standing straight on his own now.

Connor’s face betrays nothing except for the thinning of his lips, or the blur of color in his LED. But he nods stiffly, gives a sarcastic “as you wish,  _ Detective, _ ” and begins his analysis.

The door was locked from the inside with a heavy duty chain-and-latch and deadbolt. The irregular spacing of the eight stab wounds in Walker’s back suggested the perp was human, though the droplets of thirium on Walker’s clothes suggested it was an android.

“The blue blood could also be from the fact that he’s a serial murderer,” Hank pointed out. Connor shook his head.

“There’s not much thirium splatter anywhere else to suggest his victims putting up fights, so that means Walker likely neutralized his victims before dragging them in.” He moves to stand by a seemingly empty patch of carpet by the door. “The neutralized victims were left here. Judging by the smaller thirium puddle, I’d say he either removed their pump, or more conveniently, placed a strategic cut at the base of their cranial shells.” Connor continued.

“Why’s that?” Gavin asked, already dreading the answer and himself for asking.

“We have a spinal column similar to humans. Sever the tubing and wires here-” and he taps the back of his neck. “-would render most androids immobile. It would also have the least thirium leakage. I would assume that’s preferable for a Red Ice business.”

“Shit. I’m sorry I asked.” He mutters. He fights the urge to be very sick all over a delicate crime scene, and leans against the wall. The splintered wallpaper pokes against his back and smells faintly of mildew. At some point Ni had rematerialized, and was now standing invisibly in front of Connor and poking curiously at the blinking LED. Of course, his finger phased right through, as physical as light, but that didn’t stop Gavin from glaring at him.

‘Cut it out,’ he mouths through clenched teeth, to which Ni rolls his eyes and goes to stand at Gavin’s side, perfectly unruffled.

“You were right,” He whispers in Gavin’s ear, and Gavin feels an irrational shiver of gooseflesh rise on his neck. “We really do share the same face.”

Gavin grunts.

“There’s very little fresh thirium to properly judge the movement of the perp throughout the room,” Connor continues. “But Walker’s blood was found on the bottom rail of the window. It can be assumed that the perp tried to escape through there.”

“Well then, it sounds like you’ve already solved it,” Gavin snipes, and Ni initiates a slow, sarcastic clap. If he wasn’t a ghost, Gavin would high-five him. “So what the fuck are we still doing here?”

“It’s a theory, Detective,” Connor shrugs. “A likely theory, but a theory nonetheless. And it doesn’t answer why we would’ve only gotten the call on the report today.”

“Jesus. The tenant who called it in is eighty, or some shit. And he called it in because someone was rattling his potted plants on the fire escape.” Gavin wanted to get the hell out of here. He was crawling in his skin with the urge to fling open a window and get out of the stifling, corpse-infected room. “It was probably some birds or some shit.” 

In any other situation, he would be disgusted with himself for simply handing over a case to Connor and Anderson. This case was as much Red Ice and android related as it was a homicide, and Gavin wouldn’t mind giving it over to the amazing human-android duo if it meant he could breathe untainted air. His head was starting to pound, and if that was dampening his shitty ego, then that was a bad sign.

In the corner of his vision, he can see Ni frown. “You’re just going to let them take this?” He asks, and it takes a moment for Gavin to realize that Ni could listen to his thoughts.

... _ Yeah.  _ He thinks.  _ I wanna get out of here, and they’re already mostly done. It’s not like I’m going to get anything out of this. _

“That’s no way to think,” Ni chastises back. “You owe them nothing. Don't you want to do better than them?”

_ I’m also dumb as fuck right now,  _ he points out, with only the barest hint of bitterness. _ I  _ can’t  _ do better than them. _

Ni doesn’t reply. Gavin runs a hand over his face, the weight of fatigue starting to pull at his limbs. He feels old. Anderson-old. Old and stupid and bitter and looking forward to a blackout sleep.

And then: “Not if you were alone.”

“What?” Gavin asks aloud, blearily. And Ni’s striding around the place like he owns it. He stands behind the body, waiting, waiting, until Gavin caves goes to stand beside him.

“Now,” Ni begins. “Let’s say Walker was still alive.” And Walker’s body stirs and rises slowly to its feet. The scream in Gavin’s throat gets stuck, as Ni mutters “Don’t panic. It’s not real. Just work with me.”

_ Fucking WHAT?!  _ Gavin wants to shriek. But Ni’s right; no one else seems to react to the zombie that stands, back facing the door, and when Gavin squints the illusion flickers in and out like a cheap hologram, revealing the body to still be lying dormant and dead on the floor.

Ni smirks, and Gavin would punch his smug if he could, for giving him that mini heart attack. Instead, he watches as Ni steps up behind the body, the vaguest shape of a knife - no, a box-cutter - fading just into vision in his hand.

“Walker has his back turned on the door and his newest victims.” Ni is narrating it aloud like some cheap murder mystery event being held at a local pub. “The perp’s probably one of his victims. The door was still locked, after all.” Ni approaches the faceless Walker, who has a hand raised to its face. “He’s not paying attention, talking on his phone. Probably negotiating a deal with his customers. And then-”

“The perp stabbed him here.” Gavin finishes aloud. Ni nods, and mimes stabbing Walker, the box-cutter sinking into an open wound just above the shoulders, in the neck. The illusory body goes down, sinking back into the corpse on the floor. “And Walker wasn’t a healthy guy. Not with all that Ice. He probably went down easy.”

“That’s right. But the perp didn’t stop, did they? What happened next?”

“The perp was...angry. Afraid. Wanted to be sure Walker was dead.” The knife follows the tracks of the stab wounds, sinking into flesh already opened for it. “Stabbed him multiple times.”

“Eight times,” echoes Connor’s voice from somewhere, as Ni’s knife vanishes. At the same time, Ni asks, encouragingly: “And then what?”

“The blood on the window,” Gavin mutters. “The blood there’s old, right?” He turns suddenly to Connor, who blinks. “As old as Walker’s body.”

“Well- yes, Detective,” He says, bemused. “What-”

“The perp tried to escape through the window first.” Gavin strides to the window now, sure of himself, and throws it open. Ni’s a step ahead of him, standing on the platform of the fire escape that creaks beneath his invisible weight, with the wind. “Um. The perp wanted to escape down the fire escape. But…”

“But what, Gav?” Ni asks, and Gavin thinks for a moment, then steps out the window, ignoring the sudden confusion behind him.

The platform creaks beneath his shoes, and a hand immediately flies to the railing for some semblance of reassurance as he sways with the Detroit breeze. Rust and paint flake off under his hands. He shivers, and the platform shivers with him.

“The platform’s a piece of shit,” Gavin’s words are swallowed by the clamor of the city. There should’ve been no way anyone could have heard him, but Ni nods along. “And... Connor said there were heavy winds that night. Probably scared the perp too much to risk using.” He turns back to the windowsill, and notes the sparse, untouched, crumbling state of the cement sill and bottom rail. There are no stains to match the handprints on the interior. “The perp went back inside.”

Ni grins. “But the call for the crime only came in recently. Why is that?”

Gavin thinks for a moment, then takes a slow step forward. And another. He gives a slight bounce on the soles of his feet, and even that slight moment sends a tremor throughout the platform. He can hear the distinct sound of pottery rattling on metal on the level beneath him. “The perp tried again a few days later. The sound alerted the neighbor downstairs.”

“Excellent work, Gav.” The praise makes something in Gavin’s stomach twist, and he’s suddenly aware of the warmth that combats the cold, biting air against his face. “Then what happened?”

“Then…” He looks around. The stairs leading down are right there. Even if the neighbor had been alerted, that’s no reason to just stick around. Logically, there’s no benefit to hanging around a corpse-ridden apartment.

Except-

He frowns. Something wasn’t right. He shifts his weight between his feet, uneasy.

“Where did the perp go, Gav?” Ni asks quietly.

“REED!” Gavin jumps, his thoughts scrambled. Anderson’s face is leaning out the window, furious. “Get the hell back in here!”

“Fucking hell, Anderson, I was onto something-”

“I don’t give a shit! Get in here before that thing falls and breaks your neck. That’s an  _ order,  _ Reed.” He adds on, sharply, and Gavin scowls.

He stomps across the platform to the window and swings his foot through. He’s barely managed to get solid footing when he feels something give-

Hands clutch at his jacket as the entire platform creaks, sways, and drops out beneath him, leaving him half-inside, half-dangling-outside, leg swinging freely. He feels his heart drop out his body, alongside the several hundred pounds worth of rusting metal that lands on the platform several meters below, shattering the pots beneath him. The entire building seems to shake.

Connor drags him inside and he all but collapses on the floor, breathing hard. Everyone’s staring. Anderson has white in his hair -  _ more  _ white in his hair - the ceiling had deposited a neat little pile of drywall crumblings on his head and Gavin has to consciously bite his tongue to keep from giggling.  _ Must be the shock _ .

Of course, Anderson’s on him immediately, hounding him furiously. Big hands grab his shoulders and drag him upright to shake him. “What the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking, Reed! You almost got yourself killed!”

“Oh fuck off, Anderson! I’m fine,” Gavin retorts, though his voice comes off shrill. “And also, Connor, your theory is bullshit.”

“I distinctly remember you telling me that it was as good as truth a few minutes ago,” Connor replies with the same snark he always reserved for Gavin, but his flickering LED gives away how unsettled he is. “Detective, I must insist that you relieve yourself of this case. For your own sake, if not everyone else’s.”

Gavin’s tempted to agree. The brief stint outside had temporarily cleared up the pervading headache, but it was returning full force, and he grits his teeth against the throbbing in his skull. He can feel the eyes of the other officers on him, that mix of confusion and worry, and he knows he should throw in the towel while he still could to preserve his pride.

But he was so close to figuring it out. The brief moment of clarity had proved that.

“I’m  _ fine, _ ” he snaps, and Ni nods approvingly from the corner of his vision. “I’ve almost got it. The android didn’t leave through the window. They would’ve figured the fire escape was too shitty to risk using before anyone else.”

“Not every android is equipped with pre-constructive abilities as I am, Detective.” Connor says. “And they could’ve still have gone down the escape with little problem, with heightened agility.”

“I’m not saying they’re equipped with your fancy-ass tech. I’m saying that maybe, they were acting human in the moment and got scared of heights, or some shit. Ever think about that,  _ Connor _ ?” He puts as much venom as he can into the words, and watches Connor’s face pinch for an instant into fury. The brief satisfaction he gets is tainted only briefly by the guilt. He hasn’t said shit like that in a long time.

“Alright.” Anderson grabs Gavin’s arm and shoves him to the door. “That’s it. Gavin, you’ve been acting up all day and no one wants to deal with it. Go take a fucking walk.”

“Anderson-” Gavin protests.

“ _ Now.  _ We’ll finish up here.”

Hank Anderson was a washed-up, gone-to-seed son of a bitch, but in that instant he looked every bit the Lieutenant he was supposed to be. There was no room for argument in his words, and Gavin grins in a grimace at the thought of having finally provoked Anderson into doing his fucking job. And it only took a few choice words directed at Connor.

There was something ironically poetic about it.

His nails dig into his palm, and he forces himself to breathe as red crowds into his vision. He’ll get nowhere by assaulting a senior officer, no matter how much he wanted to put his fist through something. The other officers clear a path for him. He catches Chris on his way out: “The perp’s still in here somewhere. Be on guard.” He warns in a mutter.

He knew that he meant nothing to the Lieutenant. Despite whatever history they had together, he meant fuck-all to Hank compared to Connor. He’d known that since that time Anderson pulled a gun on him in the evidence room, and it was pathetic how being reminded of it now still stung.

Ni’s waiting in the hallway when Gavin steps from the apartment, hands buried deep into his jacket pockets. He looks up and gives a slight, crooked smile as Gavin approaches. 

“Man,” He jerks his head at the apartment door. “Fuck those guys, am I right?”

Gavin couldn’t help it. He laughs weakly, surprising some CSI officers as he makes his way to the elevator. Ni follows closely, as always, humming some long-forgotten tune.

“You’re going home?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’m gonna get let back to the scene even if I wanted to be there.” The elevator’s a rickety thing that shudders when Gavin steps inside, the lights buzzing audibly above him. “And anyways, they’re smart. They’ll figure it out, and if I’m right I’ll get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hm.” For a moment he thinks Ni is going to try and motivate him to go back, to finish the job, but he looks off in thought. “It’ll be nice to see home again. You still live in the same house, right?”

That’s right. Ni was stuck with him now. It was hard to believe that he had reunited with Ni only a few hours ago. “Yeah. Never could bring myself to move out.”

“It’s a very nice house.”

The elevator chimes tinnily, and Gavin steps into a foyer that smelled distinctly like a public toilet. He passes Tina, doing her duty in shooing off curious civilians, alongside a few other beat cops. Tina flashes him a mock salute; he replies with a grin.

“Need a ride?” She calls at him, and he hesitates. On one hand, a ride sounded great. On the other hand, he wasn’t interested in having to stop by the precinct first, which would be a sound guarantee if he accepted Tina’s offer. A stop by the precinct meant getting chewed out for leaving a scene early, and being expected to finish his  _ goddamn  _ reports, and neither of those were appealing.

He looks to Ni, who only shrugs. “You know, I’ve never seen how those automatic taxis work,” is all he says.

“I’ll take a cab this time, Teeny.” He tells her. Ni’s smile threatens to split his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hh...........................i tried


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gavin rolls his eyes and walks back out to his desk. Borrowed mug in one hand. Sense of impending dread in the other._
> 
> _Invisible friend trailing, smirking, behind him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah baby

He goes home, exhausted, feeling like death.

The ride was uneventful, with Gavin half-asleep in the backseat as Ni wondered aloud at the functionalities. He’d left his motorcycle in the employee parking lot - he had realized this too late - and decided that fuck it, no one was going to steal it. He’s too tired to care.

It takes two tries to get the right key, it takes three more to get the key into the slot. Gavin stumbles through the threshold, toeing off his shoes and shucking his jacket onto some unseen surface, tossing his keys into the little dish by the door. A stupid, ceramic thing of a bearded dragon in a cowboy’s hat that Rin had had since forever. It clatters loudly, making his ears ring.

By the time he’s sloughed up the stairs by pure muscle memory and collapsed in bed, he’s remembered that he missed dinner. He can hardly bring himself to care, his eyes are too heavy and every joint aches. Each of his thirty-seven years sits on his back like a lead weight and makes him sink deeper into the mattress.

Somewhere, Ni is asking something, words distorted in Gavin’s ears. He mumbles something into his pillow in reply. Something, something…

He’s so tired…

* * *

He wakes up to the harsh hum of his phone, buzzing against the nightstand.

With a groan, he turns over, unplugging it and squinting at the screen. Seven-ten. Fifty minutes until he had to be at the station. If he gets up now, he can shower. If he hits snooze he’ll get ten more minutes of dozing before his next choice comes between breakfast and more sleep.

Usually it’s an easy choice, but as he’s about to tap snooze, he notices something out the corner of his eye. A figure sitting on the chair by his desk, usually occupied by clothing.

His hand flies to the nightstand, throwing open the drawer and grabbing the gun in there. His eyes snap open, adrenaline shocking him out of sleep. And the figure-

-just sits there. He blinks. It’s Ni, face pulled into one of pleasant surprise, perched on the lumpy seat that had to be uncomfortable for any normal person.

“...Shit. You can’t just do that.” Gavin breathes out, and shoves the gun back into the drawer. The safety lock was still on it, and he thinks that if this was a real intruder, he would’ve had to rely entirely on intimidating them, and hoping that they wouldn’t notice the very prominent silver lock on the trigger guard. “Gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“Sorry. Nice reflexes, though.” Ni says. He looks impressed. “You get intruders often?”

“Hmph.” He flops down on the sheets. There’s no hope for getting any more sleep. His heart is only just settling down after railing against his chest. “No. I’m just...paranoid, I guess.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Dunno. Paranoia comes with the job.” He may as well get up. “I don’t deal well with jumpscares.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gavin swings his legs out of bed and - damn. He’d gone to sleep in the same clothes he’d worked with. There’s a pinch on his waist from where the fly of his jeans had dug an imprint into his belly. His stomach gurgles; he hadn’t eaten since...eighteen or so hours ago. He’s a mess.

“Go shower, Gav. You smell rank.”

He squints. “Can you even smell?”

Ni blinks. “Can you say I’m wrong?”

 _It’s_ weird, he thinks later as he stands under the hot water. Weird to suddenly have a roommate after years of living in solitude. And such a personal one; Ni was privy to anything and everything. Gavin probably couldn’t even take a shit without Ni knowing.

They were going to have to figure out some boundaries.

He steps out of the bathroom still brooding on the matter, to find Ni standing in front of his open closet, scrutinizing the array inside.

“...What? Is my fashion sense that bad?” Gavin jokes, as he picks his away across the messy carpet to his drawers. Thankfully, he’s not lacking in clean underwear, though he’ll definitely have to do laundry sometime soon.

“No comment on that.” Ni glances over his shoulder. “How come you never wear any of these? And don’t say you do,” Ni adds sharply, when Gavin opens his mouth to argue. “You can’t lie to me, remember. You’ve worn more or less the same outfit to work for the past month or so, except for formal events or whatever.”

“Eh…” He pulls on a pair of boxers. Ni, thankfully, turns away to face the closet. “Nothing goes as good with the jacket as the t-shirts.”

“Why do you wear that jacket all the time, then?”

He’s dodged this question any other time it has been brought up. Saying shit like ‘it’s got inside pockets’ or ‘mind your fucking business’. But he suspects he can’t get away with avoiding it with Ni.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t try. “Why are you asking me all these questions?” He retorts, pulling on a decently clean pair of pants and sliding his belt out of the discarded jeans of yesterday. “You can see my memories and shit, right? Find the answers yourself.”

“Like I said earlier, I like hearing it-”

“From me, yeah, I know. But I don’t like _saying_ it.” He finds a clean sock in his underwear drawer, and after some snooping, its twin beneath the chair. “I don’t like talking about my shit much.”

Ni’s face has fallen from his usual calm smile into something unreadable, neutral. “It’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up.” He chides.

“You sound like Teeny.” He really is out of clean shirts. He picks one up off the floor and inspects it, trying to see any notable stains. “And anyways. You can’t just pop in-and-out of my brain...space, or whatever. It scares the hell out of me."

“It’s very hard for me to do anything else. I only ever exist in your sight or out of it.”

Gavin lets the shirt slide from his hands back onto the floor. Ni still watches him carefully, eyes wide and innocent. It’d be a near dead match with Connor if not for the eyes; Gavin’s not sure if he noticed it before, but Ni’s eyes are light as hell. Small pinprick pupils in pale irises. It’s a little unsettling.

And then Ni’s blank expression shifts, and he laughs. 

“Jeez, was it really that distracting?” He scratches the back of his neck, bashful. “Shit, I’ll be more careful then. Didn’t realize I was getting a little too spontaneous about it!”

“Um.” Ni smiles expectantly like a kid expecting a treat. Gavin can’t help but think that the look didn’t suit him at all. “O-okay. Yeah, just. Be a little more cool about it, I guess.”

“Yeah, no problem.” And Ni turns right back around to keep examining his wardrobe. “Anyways, as I was saying earlier. Now that you’re out of t-shirts, I think this is a good opportunity to try something else. Look, you have sweaters and stuff. When was the last time you wore a sweater?”

“I’m not wearing a sweater, Ni.”

“But it’s such a good sweater!” Ni pouts, and Gavin follows where he was pointing at the aforementioned sweater. It was not a good sweater. The sweater Ni was pointing out was a turtleneck.

“It’s gonna be hot as balls, Ni.”

“Ugh.” He rolls his eyes. “Well in any case, you’re not wearing that jacket today, okay?”

“Why? It’s a good jacket!”

“And you’re also a grown man. You don’t need a security blanket, or whatever that hoodie means to you.” Gavin winces, feeling his ego shrivel slightly. Ni points to a light-colored shirt, stuck between two dark suit jackets that weren’t tailored right. “Try this one. And roll the sleeves up, it’ll make you look better.”

The shirt Ni had pointed out was a button-down, slightly wrinkled and soft in Gavin’s hands. He couldn’t even remember where it came from-it’s probably just some thrift-store find that he pulled out for formal events. But it’s clean and it’s sized correctly and Gavin figures there’s no harm in humoring Ni, who watches as he fumbles with the buttons.

“Tuck it into your waistband, too.” Ni adds when he goes to stand in front of the filthy, floor-length mirror on his door. He feels a little foolish, like some kid going to Sunday church, but he has to admit he doesn’t look half- bad. He turns in the mirror, feeling self-conscious.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely. You look great.” Ni stands behind him with his chin hovering just above Gavin’s shoulder. Gavin’s not sure when he got tall enough to do that. “You look like a big boy.”

“I look like a kid at the middle-school dance.”

“And I’m a very proud granny.” Ni mimes wiping a tear from his eye, one hand on his chest. “My big buff baby...all grown up. When did that happen?”

“Alright, asshole.”

“Hardly yesterday, you were only a pea-plant in the earth…”

Gavin couldn’t help it. He laughs, and Ni laughs with him.

* * *

“Hey, loser!”

Gavin had just sat down at his desk, with Ni on the desk itself, when someone yelled out at him. It takes him a moment to place the source of the shout and - sure enough - when he turns he sees Tina striding towards him with a cup of coffee in one hand and pastry in the other.

“Hey, jackass.” He says in reply, and she snorts and thrusts the coffee at him. Good old Tina. “What’s up?”

“Just the usual. Kicking ass.Taking names. Drinking shit coffee.”

“Tina, you hate coffee. You drink _tea,_ like a little baby.”

“Hey, now, Mr. Pretentious. If you tried to pass a very good tea off as coffee, would it or would it not be considered a shit coffee?” She waggles her eyebrows, and Gavin snorts. “What’s with the new look, by the way? You look like my high school chem teacher.”

To prove her point, she tugs at the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, and he bats her away. He was only too aware of how the sudden change was attracting too many curious glances. 

He shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise, taking a sip of the coffee before trying to formulate a reply. “Maybe I just wanted to try something new. Do I need a reason?”

“For making me remember high school? Absolutely.”

“I’m sorry for making you relive such deeply ingrained trauma. As penance I will buy you your lunch for the day.”

“Blessed be your gracious soul.” She takes her usual seat - cross-legged and on his desk. Where Ni was, sinking right through the man like he was nothing more than a poor apparition. Gavin blinks rapidly, and Ni quickly dissipates from sight, leaving only Tina. “Anyways, you left early yesterday. Do you want the summary of what you missed?”

He does a subtle glance around, trying to see where Ni had gone. He must have retired from appearing in the visual space around Gavin for the time being. Whatever. “Please do.”

The summary: the scene had wrapped itself up shortly after Gavin’s departure. Chris had been the one to find the culprit for Walker’s murder, hiding in the bathtub beneath the android bodies.

“I fucking knew it!” Gavin slammed a fist to the desk, startling a few passing officers. Ni had very quietly reappeared back in the corner of his vision, occupying the empty desk across from his. He was smirking.

“Yeah, right? Anderson kept on saying something like ‘Reed was right, what the hell.’ “ Tina waves a hand dismissively, taking a bite from her pastry and spilling crumbs onto Gavin’s desk. “Anyways, shut up and let me finish.”

“Clean up your mess first.” 

“I’ll do it after I finish talking. So hush.”

The aftermath of that was a lot of confusion and a little bit of screaming from all parties. The android had been a YK model, and Connor had theorized it had been able to survive Walker’s attempt at deactivating it because of the different physiological blueprint of YK models. The poor thing had been extremely stressed, and it had taken several minutes to calm it down to a safe level, between the combined efforts of Connor, Anderson, _and_ Chris.

“Good for Chris.” The man deserved the credit he got. “What happened next?”

“Dunno. Jericho claimed guardian action. The kid’s over there now for counseling.” Tina shakes her head. “Rough stuff. Apparently it hadn’t had a guardian registered since the Revolution, so it was pretty easy for Walker to get it.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. You did good,” She says, and slaps a hand on his shoulder. “Heard you scared the shit out of people as you were solving it, though. What’s up with that?”

“Oh god. What’ve you heard?” He groans. He was sure there were going to be rumors spiralling all around now, and while he’d stopped giving a shit about things like social reputations a long time ago (he was ‘Resident Asshole’ and proud of it, thanks very much, don’t talk to me) he didn’t want something as ridiculous as an “insanity check” rumor to ruin his chances for sergeant.

“A lot, to be honest. Something about you jumping out a window-”

“Okay, I didn’t _jump_ , the fire escape gave out-”

“-and acting possessed or something-”

“Jesus, we have too many horror-film junkies in our beat cop lineup-”

“-generally talking a lot to yourself, and acting like you were about to pass out. Gav, is everything alright?” Her tone drops from something light-hearted to something serious, and Gavin groans. He was about to get mother-henned, and he wasn’t sure what to say. “I mean, I don’t know if this is just some weird new tactic you’re using to figure out cases, or if you’re actually going insane, but let me know, right?”

“Teeny, if I was possessed you’d definitely be able to tell.” He laughs, but Tina doesn’t match his mirth. She’s serious, staring down at him, so he drops the humor and sighs. “Okay, okay. Listen, um…”

He hesitates, and she looks on expectantly.

It is then that he is struck by the realization that he has no idea what to say.

“What?” Tina asks, as his mind races frantically between options. 

Option one: he tells her everything. Everything from the therapist appointment to the attic to Ni, and he’s sure that once he brings up Ni she will probe, and he will have to dredge up his backstory with Ni and all the emotional bullshit that went with it. And for what? Being truthful?

It was one bird, two stones.

Option two: he doesn’t. And he saves himself the effort and gives Tina an Occam’s Razor of an answer, avoiding more questions and leaving all parties happier.

Two birds, one stone.

“I was just...tired.” He says, finally. “And yeah, it’s like you said. It’s a new tactic I was trying, ‘cuz you know how Connor’s whole shtick is, like, trying to talk through and relive scenes?” He stumbles on the words, trying to find the right ones. He’s acutely aware that his answer borders on rambling. “It’s like that. I dunno, I guess I just gotta work on making it...seem less like I’m going crazy, or whatever.”

Tina doesn’t look wholly convinced, but she lets it drop. “Well, if that’s all it is.” She brushes crumbs from her lap. “Just don’t go leaping out any more windows, right?”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Ha, I’m kidding!” She nudges his seat with her foot, and he shoves lightly back with a snort. “Anyways. What’s the verdict on next week? Are you coming out?”

“I thought I already did?”

She punches his shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean. All the senior officers? New bar downtown?” 

The whole time, he’s distinctly aware of Ni, watching everything with unwavering eyes. He rubs his palms together; the cost of rolled-up sleeves was actually feeling cold. He’d been wearing that hoodie as part of his daily outfit for so long that he had forgotten how the bullpen could turn into an icebox.

“ _Y_ _ou should go_ ,” Ni whispers, leaning in with a hand raised to his mouth, as though trying to hide his voice from others. As though anyone else might suddenly hear. “ _I_ _t’d be good to let loose. And you think so yourself, it’s stupid to drink by yourself._ ”

“Eh, I’m still on the fence about it,” Gavin mutters aloud, trying to keep his eyes from flicking to the empty seat that Ni occupies. “I think it still depends on how I feel on the day.”

“Aw, come on. Chris already said he can’t make it, and I don’t wanna get stuck there with no one to talk to.”

“Oh, you’d be fine. Go chat up someone cute while you’re there.” Gavin waves off Tina’s plea with a careless hand, taking a sip of his coffee in the same movement. “Unless you want me to play wingman, in which case you’re gonna have to do better at convincing me.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves herself from his desk, and lands with a graceless hop. “Whatever, Gav. Let me know when you make up your mind, okay? Lunch today?”

“You got it.”

“That was Tina, right?” Ni has his chin resting in a palm, looking thoughtful. He’s watching her depart. “She seems nice.”

Gavin nods. He feels a little bite of guilt at having blatantly lied to her. That wasn’t something they did, and he can’t remember the last time he ever had to fudge the truth with her. Even with small things.

“It makes sense for you to feel weird about lying to her. How long have you known her? Nine years? Ten?” Ni asks.

A whole decade. Gavin could hardly believe it. It seems nearly impossible that someone might’ve stuck with him as long as she did, and out of willingness too.

“It’s okay. It was the right thing to do.” Ni assures. “You might’ve worried her unnecessarily, otherwise.”

He nods again, slowly. The crumbs are still on his desk.

* * *

Things do get easier in the coming days, with Ni.

Reports, for example. He wasn’t finishing them in Connor-Anderson time, but he was finishing them. Scene analysis as well, and though he didn’t have another event where he solved a case on the fly simply by being in the room, he was compiling and finding evidence almost as well as Connor.

Things also get a little weirder.

There was once or twice where Gavin forgot Ni wasn’t physically _real,_ and he has to catch himself once or twice from replying to Ni’s endless commentary out loud. And another once or twice where he drops off a conversation with someone else, leaving a pause for Ni to answer; only to remember that was impossible, and quickly picking up the conversation again, hoping no one had noticed the sudden awkward break. _Those_ moments amused Ni to no end.

“You have to remember I’m about as solid as pollen,” Ni says, later, as Gavin takes a smoke break out by the alleyway. ‘Smoke break’ was what he called it when other people asked, but in reality he hadn’t had a cigarette in a while. Not since Ni showed up, and it was just an excuse to talk to Ni unfettered. “No one notices pollen.”

“They do if they’re allergic,” Gavin corrects. He kicks at some of the stray butts on the stairs. A rain a few days ago had turned them all soggy, and falling apart at the lightest touch of his shoe.

“Well, pollen never asked to be an allergen.”

“People never asked to be allergic to the stuff either.”

Ni shrugs, swinging his legs from the stair railing where he sits. “Whatever. Flowers release stuff, humans breathe stuff, and the only person who can see me is you.”

“Your analogy is garbage. It would imply that I’m the only bastard on earth who’s allergic to pollen.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Ni asks, and it conjures hay fever memories, and the ghost of stuffy noses and persistent coughs.

“Nah. Eli’s allergy was worse.”

“Ah, right. Eli. How is your darling cousin?”

Gavin shrugs, grinding some of the cigarette butts into pulp with his heel until the rubber sole met cement. “Dunno. Stopped talking to him ages ago, to be honest with you."

“Oh, what happened?”

“Eh. We grew apart. He turned out to be a gigantic asshole with a pretentious streak.”

“Shame. I rather liked Eli.”

“You’ve never met him.”

“Well, I can imagine can’t I? How different from you can he be?” Ni spreads his hands, fingers framing a rectangle around Gavin’s face. “Same resting-bitch look, same assholery-”

“Hey!”

“Like a mirror image. If the mirror had better fashion.”

“Alright, asshole,” Gavin rolls his eyes and stands up, straightening up with a groan as his spine uncurled. His break was about to end. “You’re not allowed to say that about me when I’m following your fashion rules.” He’d been following Ni’s advice, and trying out other, long-forgotten shirts from his closet. He hadn’t worn the hoodie in ages, and it always felt strange when he realized it. Like he’d lost a layer of his skin.

“I suppose not,” Ni sighs wistfully. “Though if you’d just listen to me and put on that sweater…”

“No turtlenecks.”

“Damn.”

Ni shuts up as they enter the bullpen, and Gavin decides to grab a cup of coffee before settling to work. The break room is empty, aside from a few beat cops sharing a conversation over a box of stale pastries and Chris, who waves as Gavin passes. Though Gavin couldn’t be sure, the man seemed more amicable to Gavin after getting a solid amount of credit from the Walker case.

“Hey, Reed,” Chris calls. “How are you?”

“Hey Miller.” Gavin replies. There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the machine. Luck was on his side. “I’m just fine.”

“You should ask him how his day is going as well,” Ni mutters. “Be amicable.”

_I’m plenty amicable._

“If your usual behavior is what you call ‘amicable’, then everyone else must be affectionate as hell.”

“You coming with us? This week?” someone asks, and Gavin takes a moment to place who said it. It wasn’t Ni’s voice. It was Chris. “The bar’s got some good reviews.”

“I thought Tina said you weren’t going?”

“Me and my wife worked out a sitter for Damian, so yes, we are going.”

“Good for you.” He goes through the cupboard, looking for his mug. He can’t find it, it’s probably been pushed to the back where he can’t see or reach, so he grabs Anderson’s instead. White, with DON’T TALK TO ME UNTIL I’VE EATEN THIS MUG emblazoned in bold black letters. He’s been tempted more than once to steal it, but that was too much of an asshole move, even for him.

When he closes the cupboard, he sees Ni, sitting on the table and eyeing the mug with bewilderment.

 _What? It’s funny._ He thinks.

“It’s ridiculous,” Ni snorts.

_You’re ridiculous._

“So...yes or no, Reed? I need an answer within the next half-minute.” Chris waves his phone. “I’m texting Tina right now.”

“Jesus, give me a moment, right? I need to eat this mug.” He waves the empty cup back at Chris, grabbing the coffee pot with his free hand. It was still warm. Nice. “I’m thinking about it. Who else is going?”

“Me, Tina-”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Persons, Brown, Lewis, Wilson-”

“Ugh, _Wilson.”_

“Hey, Wilson’s not bad. Not terrible, at least,” Chris amends, catching sight of Gavin’s raised eyebrow. “A few of the android officers are going too. And Connor.”

Connor. He can’t help the reflexive sneer that curls across his face, though he tries his best to soften it. Ni clicks his tongue. Chris sighs audibly.

“Yeah, I know you don’t like the guy, but c’mon. He’s not bad to be around.”

“I've heard.”

“I don’t know if Hank’s going. I think he’s on the fence too, if that influences your decision at all.”

It does. “Honestly, I think I’m _less_ likely to go if Anderson’s going. I see enough of him during work.”

“Come on, Reed. He’s good company. He’s really getting better with...y'know.” Chris says, earnestly, like that wasn’t the precise reason why Gavin didn’t want to be around him. It was cruel, twisted irony watching Hank Anderson ‘get better’ with the help of a plastic. Like Gavin hadn’t been trying for all the years since Cole’s death. “And he’ll probably be talking to Ben the whole time, anyways. It’s not like you _have_ to interact with him.”

“You sound like a kid trying to invite me to a birthday party,” Gavin sighs. This isn’t a fight he has the energy to win. “Fine. I’ll come.”

Chris smiles, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Ni grinning too, all smug. “I’m letting Tina know right now. She owes me five bucks.”

“Motherfucker, were you betting on me?”

“I’ll buy you first drinks,” Chris says in lieu of an answer, and Gavin rolls his eyes and walks back out to his desk. Borrowed mug in one hand. Sense of impending dread in the other.

Invisible friend trailing, smirking, behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no baby

**Author's Note:**

> me: with multiple many-chaptered works not yet done and nowhere near done  
> also me: what if i did this thing
> 
> i'm gonna create a list of some of the great titles that got suggested for this because they're all great:  
> ghost(?) bastard  
> oh shit put it back  
> coming out of my box and im doing just fine  
> alter idem  
> welcome to ni vale  
> friend in the attic  
> head empty, all the demons are here  
> look into the void, let it consume you  
> this bitch empty (yeet)


End file.
